To Kerouac alley from Chinatown side
Posted: October 26th, 2009, 12:23 am
way down here in the wetlands,
down where the windows do the sign of the cross...and wet themselves
i was standin there in Kerouac alley, before they named it that, i was a lone
wolf cat,
was walkin through that between universes scene, comin from the
Chinatown side, i would begin at the lions gate, that mouth open
to market street, i walk slow through the maze of neon tigers bright
walk in the day and walk in the night, i tried to see how Li Po saw
I always walked with the Junk moon that sailed on the high C
walked with the serpent sax playin in the howlish breeze
maybe stop and watch the orange and red paper dragon lanterns
feelin that Frisco salt air on my face and smelling the chow yuk
from the open restaurant doors,
until I came to the corner, where that alley would lead me down
that Burroughsian bowel all the smells of rotten cabbage and piss
on the beatnik graffiti lined walls, i would stand there takin it all in
breathin, breathing this holy jazz spot, makin a slow turn with my
eyes closed until i could see within,
see that night not so long ago, when Ginsberg made his entry on
history's text, not so long ago 55, and read his new poem Howl for
the first time in North Beach, the generation whose best minds,
were blown to smithereens, or maybe it was Thelonious who
monked it for us, bebop revolution to the Last Poets, SunRa
risin in the east,
and Jim said the west is the best, like those best minds all blowin
in the wind
I open my eyes now, i heard Harry and Bobby whisper in the dark
I heard some symbolist uttering some kind of poet language
but i see his ancient body of light standing in the City Lights
[http:// beatitudepoetry.com/poetrymanuscripts.htm]
[http://revolutionrabbit.blogspot.com]
down where the windows do the sign of the cross...and wet themselves
i was standin there in Kerouac alley, before they named it that, i was a lone
wolf cat,
was walkin through that between universes scene, comin from the
Chinatown side, i would begin at the lions gate, that mouth open
to market street, i walk slow through the maze of neon tigers bright
walk in the day and walk in the night, i tried to see how Li Po saw
I always walked with the Junk moon that sailed on the high C
walked with the serpent sax playin in the howlish breeze
maybe stop and watch the orange and red paper dragon lanterns
feelin that Frisco salt air on my face and smelling the chow yuk
from the open restaurant doors,
until I came to the corner, where that alley would lead me down
that Burroughsian bowel all the smells of rotten cabbage and piss
on the beatnik graffiti lined walls, i would stand there takin it all in
breathin, breathing this holy jazz spot, makin a slow turn with my
eyes closed until i could see within,
see that night not so long ago, when Ginsberg made his entry on
history's text, not so long ago 55, and read his new poem Howl for
the first time in North Beach, the generation whose best minds,
were blown to smithereens, or maybe it was Thelonious who
monked it for us, bebop revolution to the Last Poets, SunRa
risin in the east,
and Jim said the west is the best, like those best minds all blowin
in the wind
I open my eyes now, i heard Harry and Bobby whisper in the dark
I heard some symbolist uttering some kind of poet language
but i see his ancient body of light standing in the City Lights
[http:// beatitudepoetry.com/poetrymanuscripts.htm]
[http://revolutionrabbit.blogspot.com]
